


Silver Lining

by trash-and-loving-it (HaleyProtega282)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 'oh shit' moments, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Time, Frottage, Getting Together, Guilt angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I wrote this instead of studying, Kissing, M/M, Memory Loss, Non-Graphic Smut, Non-Penetrative Sex, The Author Regrets Nothing, Wincest - Freeform, amnesiac!sam, guilty!dean, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26559619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaleyProtega282/pseuds/trash-and-loving-it
Summary: Sam loses his memory on a hunt and it leads to an interesting misunderstanding (spoiler alert: it’s smut).[Set somewhere in the second half of season 2.]Okay, so the concept isn’t new, but the plot bunny wouldn’t leave me alone. Enjoy!
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 301





	Silver Lining

The ghost sends Sam crashing into a wall seconds before Dean throws the match on the bastard’s bones. Dean runs over, relived that there’s no blood, but the contusion doesn’t look pretty. That, and the fact Sam is still out of it, have his stomach twisting itself into pretzel-shapes, when he would much rather be pretzel-free.

They’re halfway to the Impala when Sam’s eyes flutter open, unfocused and dazed. “Hey.” Dean can hear the relief in his voice. “Had a little nap on the job, huh?”

“There’s a fire.” Sam blinks at the still smouldering grave in the distance.

“Perceptive as always, Sammy. Can you walk?”

His brother still seems confused. “Who are you?”

***

After establishing that no, Sam wasn’t pulling a highly uncreative prank, Dean decided to deal with the doozy of filling him in later. First things first, they had to get the hell out of Dodge before the fire department showed up.

He spared time to mumble his own name (the absurdity of introducing himself to Sam!), and ushered him to the car, staying silent all the way to the motel. Explaining hunting and monsters without sounding insane was always problematic, now with the added little issue of being wanted by the cops. He expected Sam to be asking why they aren’t going to the hospital, or what they were doing, but he remained uncharacteristically quiet, watching Dean tend to the gash on his shoulder.

They really couldn’t afford any infections on top of this, so Dean wasn’t thrifty with the rubbing alcohol. Sam gasped, wincing, and Dean couldn’t hold back teasing a little. “Bitch.” But the usual “jerk” response didn’t follow, and he was left again to consider where the hell to start explaining.

“Alright Sammy, all patched up”, he said getting up, before Sam pulled him back to sit on the bed.

“I got it.”, he said.

“You remember?”, Dean asked, eyes searching.

“Well, no”, Sam seemed a bit guilty for getting his hopes up. “But I’ve figured out one thing, and I think I know what might jog my memory.”

Dean was just opening his mouth to ask what, but then Sam’s mouth was on his. Sam. Kissing him. With tongue. As his brain short-circuited around that realization, Sam was pulling back and saying something about that part being obvious, “-the way you worry about me, and call me Sammy, and ‘bitch’”, he chuckled a little at the last word. “Dean?”

Dean’s thoughts were whirling around like clothes in a washing machine, half stuck on how good that felt, and the other half yelling _nononowrongrightwrong_ on repeat. He definitely had to correct Sam’s assumption. Totally. His moral compass may occasionally be a roulette wheel, but he has some principles, okay? Plus, Sam would kill him when he remembers.

“Sam, you-“, he starts seriously, before Sam interrupts, “I know what you’re gonna say, but I’m not that badly hurt, really.” Yeah, if only that were the problem here.

He doesn’t get a chance at elaborating, because Sam’s at it again with the kissing stuff, and Dean vaguely wonders if he got hit in the head too, because his thought process is suddenly wiped blank, any internal dilemma overcome by the sensation of Sam’s hands under his shirt.

“Sam, don’t.”, he breathes half-heartedly, though it’s getting difficult to remember exactly why. And when did he get horizontal?

“Shh, it’s okay.”, Sam mutters as he sucks a bruise into his neck, his hips griding down on Dean’s in a rhythm that promptly sends all rational thought flying out the window.

“Wait. No.”, he says as his hands contradict him and pull Sam impossibly closer, and then his vocabulary seems to get reduced to Sam’s name on repeat. Not that there’s a chance to test that theory, with Sam’s tongue down his throat again.

His brain goes offline for the next few minutes, replaced by white-hot pleasure, everything turning temporarily stupid. And then he can practically see his mind drifting back down to him, floating like a feather, before it turns into an anvil and smashes his head with the realization of what just happened.

 _Oh shit. OH. SHIT._ Dean can feel a panic attack building up, but at least he isn’t outwardly showing it.

“Dean? What’s wrong?” Or maybe he is. Fucksickles.

He’s up in a second, pacing and starting to hyperventilate and totally freaking out – how’s that for multitasking?

Now would be the time to start explaining. But his mouth just won’t cooperate, not after what he just did with it. _Fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck_..

“Hey. Dean. Calm down.” Sam’s standing there, wearing that dopey confused expression, and Dean forces his mental breakdown to take the back seat. Maybe Sam kicking the crap out of him will help. He twines his hand nervously around the amulet hanging from his neck. “See this? You gave it to me when you were 8.”

“We’ve known each other for that long?”

“We’ve known each other our whole lives.” Dean answers grimly.

“So we were neighbours or something?”

Yeah, _something_ alright. Dean can feel his nerves acting up again. “Christ, Dad would kill me. Hell, he’d disown me, he-“, aaand he’s full-on hyperventilating now, sliding down the wall, as Sam tries to calm him.

“Your dad?”, he hears Sam ask.

He forces himself to look into those hazel eyes and say, “ _Our_ Dad.”

Sam’s brow furrows for a second. “What?”, he asks, and Dean wonders if the hit to his head took some IQ points too. “You’re my brother, Sam.”, he manages before his voice breaks.

Sam reels back, staring into nothing and just considering this for a few moments. He’s quiet for long enough Dean’s got his breathing under control and is actively wondering why he isn’t getting punched like a boxing bag. This is his fault. He barely put any effort into stopping it, and Sam has every right to be pissed.

“What were we doing before I got hit?”, Sam asks in a non sequitur, and now Dean is the one unnecessarily asking ‘what?’.

“Just tell me.”

So Dean does, nonplussed but grateful for the distraction; he tells him everything about the job, and how everything started, and how they grew up. Sam listens with that thinking face he has on when piecing together clues, completely unphased by the revelation of the supernatural.

“So… that monster stuff doesn’t sound crazy to you?”, Dean has to ask.

“I just somehow know I can trust you. And the other thing makes a lot of sense now.”

At Dean’s questioning look, Sam vaguely gestures between them, blushing slightly. “Formative years”, he mumbles in clarification.

Right. The reason of his breakdown almost slipped Dean’s mind while he was trying to summarize their whole life. 

“Did you know memory isn’t localized in the brain?”, Sam asks out of the blue. “Some parts are for memorizing places, others for abstract facts”, he continues without waiting for a reply. “And the part for remembering feelings is at the very core of the brain, protected from damage by all the other structures around it.” Dean would ask where he learned that, but it’s not like even Sam would know now. And then that thought disappears at lightening speed because Sam is sitting way, way to close now, their shoulders touching.

“I may not remember your birthday, or where you got that scar” – he traces a fingertip over Dean’s collarbone – “But I remember how I feel about you.” Their lips are but an inch apart now, breath mingling as Sam whispers, “And… I think you feel the same, right?”

He’d have a hard time denying it, considering how dilated his pupils must be, his heart hammering in his chest. “Maybe”, Sam mouths against his lips, “there’s a silver lining to this.”

And hey. Dean really can’t argue with that logic.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is brought to you by Creative Procrastination™. Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments make my day. I’m not planning on writing a sequel, but I like to think Sam will get his memories back and have no regrets anyway.  
> You can find me on Tumblr:  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/haley-protega  
> xoxo,  
> Haley.  
> P.S. The simplified neuro trivia is in fact true, in case anyone cares. It’s why even Alzheimer patients who’ve forgotten the identity of their loved ones, still claim they seem nice, when researchers ask them to look at pictures of both strangers and family/friends. The reason is that the amygdala (a subcortical structure which processes emotions and stores them) is one of the last regions to stay functional. (Can you tell I geek out about this stuff, haha?)  
> P.P.S. As to why Sam knows this, maybe he had a very varied group of friends at college. Plus he knows enough chemistry to improvise a bomb (episode 2x9), so obviously he didn’t just study Law. 😊


End file.
